Twenty feet up from where it had been disturbed, the rock about the size of a quaffle exploded into dust, spraying in all directions and raining sand down on the scorched ground below it. The sand hissed to the ground, curled by the evening breeze which licked the ground. The sun had all but set behind the mountains, the light clinging to the landscape with a pale gold hue and the air cooled to a chill with its departure.

Stood below, staring up, and then into the setting sun was Ignan Storm. He was still so very angry. Very, very angry.

Twelve years of pain, disgust, heartbreak, guilt were fresh in his mind. Twelve years he had carried it all, forced himself to remember to persuade himself that he had made the right choice. Twelve years raw, reasoning torn away from him in a single afternoon. That was why he had removed himself so far from the castle which lay below him. Those twelve years and that afternoon were why he was sat up there in the impending darkness, having walked halfway up a mountain to try and run the anger out of him.

Shoulders rounding, he flopped down to one knee, then the other, before lowering his frame to the ground beside the path. He turned over his left palm to see a wound. In venting his anger with magic he had sliced at his fingers. Ignan licked away the fresh blood without healing it. The pain stung, but the way his wandwork had become so heavy handed with his emotions, he risked blowing his own hand away trying to heal the cut, which was insignificant but inconvenient.

If he could, he would hunt every single one of those Italian aurors down and torture each and every one of them for what they had put him through, and it still wouldn't be enough. He would tear them limb from limb still conscious, and that still wouldn't be enough. Not until he had taken them all and their families, and made them remember who they had stolen and broken memories from would he feel even partly justified.

Ignan's rational side which had almost completely taken over these past few years, the side that  allowed him rare smiles, to make and enjoy semi-pleasant jokes, to hold friendships, had surrendered. It too raged within him, encouraging the cruel, often disturbing side to his personality to resurface, to take charge and do what was required. At that moment, it had taken him away to think. Anger brought strength but little use was strength without strategy.

The blood from his hand smeared onto his face as he cupped them and let out a long sigh. Lowering his hands again, he lay back on the damp ground and stared upwards into the darkening sky, feeling the ground below him cold and hard, the scent of the earth filling his senses.

Ignan let the memory swim back to him, of what had happened in the cell. They had said too much. Nothing they could have said would have changed the outcome of her trial, it was an open and shut case as to how she had attacked the aurors, Ignan accepted that. They all got caught in the end, even she did. She didn't have him to warn her, not that she would have taken notice – the two of them, when determined and able to smell blood could be stopped by nothing but a near miracle.

But look at them now – a pair who time had not been kind on, who had seen more of life than most, and chosen the wrong paths? It had taken him until now, twelve long years, to come to any sort of peace with himself about what had happened, and now the conflicting thoughts, emotions and conclusions crowded his head. It felt like there would never be enough space to contemplate them all, even out here, a long way from anyone.

Ignan's grey-blue eyes closed slowly on the sky. He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to relax, to steady and clear his thoughts. Lying prone on the ground wasn't the best of situations, but every inch of him had been so tense that it took concentration to reduce it, along with his blood pressure. The utter silence around him, save for birds of prey circling at higher altitude, and the heather brushing was bliss in comparison to the busy castle. He untangled his thoughts one by one, boxing them off, locking them away.

Whatever he did, he owed it to Tapendra not to inflict consequences on him, his sister, or his daughter. Not only to Tapendra, but to Azorma. The best way of ensuring it was to go about things alone, and to make efforts to coincide any particular attempts to rectify the situation for the Trishnas with occasions where they were in the company of many witnesses for alibis.

It would take planning, and consideration. There would be no haste. To tear Azorma from the Ministry, at her trial or before would take several powerful magicians with him, and he no longer held such contacts. Nor did he suspect he was fit or able enough to lead it. He would have to take some of his own advice to Georgiana, in body, mind and skill. It would almost certainly be the date of trial before he had raised assistance, even if he enlisted Melanthe's help. There would be debts long term, even if he succeeded.

The light had almost completely gone by the time Ignan's eyes opened again and he raised himself from the ground, damp, cold and stiff. Giving an involuntary shiver, he cast a drying charm upon his attire, though the damp had sunk through his being. Lighting his wand tip he began the descent down the narrow path towards the valley and the castle below, mind a little clearer, but heart still heavy.